A year ago my wife returned home from a sensitivity training she took so her office could be a safe space for LGBTQ youth. She informed me that they had added Asexuals under the LGBTQ umbrella. She was really excited to show me the training materials. Then she paused. In her next breath, she told me she thought she might be an asexual, at least in some way. I clarified what she’d said. I heard her right. At first I didn’t know what to do. My best friend had come out as gay to me years ago and I felt so close to him that night. I felt a world away from her in that moment. Then the pain hit. The anger, the rejection, the wasted years, the wasted hope, all hit me at once and I couldn’t breathe. I had spent so much hope and effort trying to make a virtually sexless marriage some measure of what I hoped it could be. It was all wasted. It was all useless. I went for a drive and cried and screamed. She left the next day for a conference across the country so I had the weekend to think.
I realized that that situation might be an opportunity for me to have both my family in the same house and a sex life. I was excited about the idea. When she got back I sat her down and told her that I was happy that she figured out her sexuality/asexuality. Then I said I wanted to keep our family together in one home but I also need sex, and since she is asexual, I would like to discuss having an open marriage. She thought I was joking. I wasn’t. Then she cried profusely and said she’d never have an open marriage and she’d never trust me again. We made it through that night still married. Then a week but we didn’t talk. Then we found out she was pregnant. I cursed my magical sperm. They are so damn efficient.
Suddenly everything shifted. I’d seen the shift before and I knew that it would be a year or more, maybe three, before my needs would be relevant again to her. There was no way out and nowhere to go. I didn’t want to sink back into a hole, like last time. I didn’t want to resent my child. I didn’t want to grow even colder to my wife. I didn’t want to be drunk all the time or pack on fifty pounds from emotional eating. There was no way, so I invented a lover. Yes, I know that is crazy but I think sometimes a little crazy is necessary to prevent one from going completely mad or hurting themselves.
I didn’t write her into being. I simply whispered a question to myself and she answered.
“Whatcha wanna do?” I whispered.
“Mmm, fuck. Let’s fuck, baby,” she said.
So we did. We fucked a lot. As long as she was inside me, I was inside her. As we got to know each other, we figured out what each other liked. Sometimes she’d make me wait, wait just long enough that I wasn’t so gentle when we fucked. When I was too far gone to do anything but grasp her roughly with my hands and my teeth and sink into her.
When I masturbated, she’d pop into my brain unexpected and say things like, “Don’t you fucking dare spill a drop without my mouth on your cock. I want it hot and thick on my tongue.”
I would immediately paint the restroom wall with cum, imagining the drips were running down her chin. She loved my cock and I loved her pussy and we’d fight over who got to go down on the other first. I usually won. I love giving cunnilingus. Her love of cock changed me and suddenly I didn’t feel like I was selfishly using her for a blowjob. She wasn’t doing it begrudgingly. She wanted it real bad and I loved her for that enthusiasm. I loved watching her lips slide happily down my cock. I felt free and sexy and wanted.
My wife has always believed that g-spot and a-spot and really any type of vaginal orgasms were impossible and made up by men to get more sex. She rejects all attempts to prove her wrong. My lover though, she encouraged me to read and study, watch tutorials and porn. Then one night, I locked the bedroom door, alone, with my toys, and she showed me how to make her come. Holy shit! There is a difference. A big one. And that was all in my head. Imagine, well you probably don’t have to imagine what it feels like, but for my sake, imagine how good that must feel with a real live woman. Despite the physical limitations of my situation, I grew as a lover, as a person, as a sex geek. I was happier, healthier, far less passive-aggressive, and having better sex than I had had in seven years.
The sex writer Thomas Moore, who I really admire, wrote, “It might be better to say that sex is primarily an act of imagination, in which, secondarily, the body is included.” (From the foreword to “intimate kisses” edited by Wendy Maltz, page xiv.) I believe that is true but I also believe sensuality is key to achieving pleasure and satisfaction. I have a beautiful and sexy mind but it’s limited. Eventually the pain of wanting and never touching destroyed the fantasy.
I miss her. Sometimes I lay naked at night on the sun porch and imagine she is laying on my chest. I liked her there. She felt right, there.
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